


Mirage

by LearaBribage



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Enjolras Has Feelings, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:34:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29352045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearaBribage/pseuds/LearaBribage
Summary: Enjolras struggles this quarantine era, and Eponine comforts him with a single phone call.
Relationships: Enjolras & Éponine Thénardier, Enjolras/Éponine Thénardier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	Mirage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SaoirseVictoire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaoirseVictoire/gifts).



> I asked shadows-of-1832 to prompt me, and got:
> 
> “Because I know when I open my eyes this will all turn out to be a dream and I’ll lose you again.”
> 
> Alexa, loop Euphoria and Serendipity by BTS.

It was cold.

Not like "just drink a warm cup of hot chocolate" cold. Or "bury me in your warmth" cold. No, not at all. It was numb finger brittle, sharp shards of snow cold. The kind that kills. The sort of cold where "hell was never bathed in the fury of fires, but an unbreakable wall of silence -- the dark reaching, twisting around your heart until it sinks your spirit in fear" cold.

_That_ kind of cold.

The kind that made jabs about couples look puerile, reeking with insecurity. The kind that shattered the soft and callous world that Marie Antoinette lived in, the aftermath of the chaos sending shockwaves several generations past. The kind that people wish the 1% would realise existed beneath the dazzling shine of their authentic leather boots. The kind that made people sleep without meals just to buy that idol's earrings because it was the only thing that made them want to wake up and work another back-breaking, heart-breaking job.

The kind of cold that weighs heavily in your stomach and stays. The bitter, bitter reality that guts everything, leaving everything tasteless in its wake. Leaving nothing but the ache of the past, the present, the future.

That kind of _cold_.

It is paralysis.

Death's beloved, so to say.

But it is not that "stopping means death" and that "moving means living."

Because even when the heart's in arrest, the mind is a dam bursting. Like an animal acclimatised in a world of glass since infancy, breaking free becomes a prison for existence. The screams do not stop. The horrified mumbling is a comforting refrain in the stillness of the room.

It is cold, cold, _cold_.

The kind of cold that makes you forget the happiness when a bird unfurls its wings at dawn, their song waking you with the ghost of a smile on your lips. The kind of cold that makes you forget the innocence of tasting ice cream for the first time. The kind of cold that makes you forget the comfort a beloved's low voice after the darkest dream.

That kind of _cold_.

It's that cold where you hope death can only follow the series of unfortunate events that is your life. It's that cold where the obscure is a friend, and the morbid is a wordless rhythm you've forgotten to wake up from. It's that cold where everything other than breathing is easier.

Because it is the cold that reminds you that you're alive.

The cold that makes you want to live.

Live a life after war.

"So rest your eyes on me," her voice made his eyes flutter open. "I'm not going away."

He swallowed, holding the phone more tightly in his grasp as he fought tears from falling from his eyes.

Eponine uttered his name, and they fell anyway.

"I am cold," he whispered to her against the screen.

He took a deep breath.

"But not with you."

They cried.

It was warm.

**Author's Note:**

> Soft!Enjonine hours only, thank you.


End file.
